


Two Weeks Notice

by LucyHatesJosh4Eva



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attorney!Felicity, CEO!Oliver, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, No Tommy Merlin, Romantic Comedy, alternating pov, swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-10-14 02:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17500124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucyHatesJosh4Eva/pseuds/LucyHatesJosh4Eva
Summary: Oliver Queen has a reputation as an insufferable playboy and a habit of hiring very inept, very attractive attorneys to represent his multi-billion dollar family corporation. So when an act of corporate espionage lands Felicity Smoak in his office on the heels of his last hiring debacle, her law degree and tech experience seem like the way to please his shareholders and his unhappy mother. He expects her smart mouth to cause him a huge pain in the ass; however, he doesn’t expect to trust and like her. Over time, Oliver starts to rely on Felicity for everything, and his world comes to a crashing halt when she gives her two weeks notice.Retelling of the adorable rom com “Two Weeks Notice” starring Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant. I love this movie, and borrow some plot and some dialog with appreciation and joy. Updates on Mondays.





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 

_ Walter Steel Cell.  _

Oliver Queen exhales at his caller ID. He’s the Chief Executive Officer of the largest internet provider on the Eastern Seaboard, rich, powerful, and in-demand. And he wants to duck a call from his stepfather. 

Well, in fairness, Walter is also Queen Consolidated’s Chief Information Officer. And he’s been amazing to his mother, and his sister Thea since joining the family ten years ago. Oliver watches the lights of the phone flash at him. Walter has also been the only person since Oliver took over as CEO who has believed in him, and encouraged him. Trusted him. 

But the real reason he relents on the fourth ring and reaches for the phone is because Walter has cancer. A routine hip replacement turned up some weird blood counts, and before the Queens knew it, Walter had a diagnosis with more syllables than Oliver could remember. It’s been less than a month, but the unspoken truth that this will be a hard fight for Walter has sunk in for all of them. 

He’s the worst person in the world for not picking up right away, after all that. Still, he knows what is coming on the other end, and it won’t be pretty. He presses the phone to his ear.

“Oliver, I’ve taken the liberty of firing your corporate counsel.” 

Walter’s British accent is crisp and severe. Oliver knows he is still recovering from surgery, and just a few days out of his first round of chemo. At the house on Sunday, he’d look drawn, but business is business. 

“Apparently, Ms. Stetson was not a licensed attorney, and was also responsible for the data leak Queen Consolidated suffered last week.” Walter is succinct, authoritative. He always knows what to do. After three years in this office, Oliver would estimate his job-certainty at ten percent. Maybe eight. He turns over Walter’s words in his head. 

“I just learned about the data leak as well, but the law degree is news to me. I thought she graduated from somewhere in the Caribbean? St. Thomas? St. Croix?” Oliver vaguely recalled her interview. Ashley Stetson looked like a Miss American contestant, and had flirted relentlessly with him every time he asked a question. It had seemed like a good fit. 

“Upon closer examination, her degree was from the University of  _ La Croix _ .” Walter’s voice is iron now. “Oliver. This is the third beautiful woman who is absolutely clueless about your business that you’ve hired to represent QC. Get someone with a  _ real degree _ .  _ From Yale. _ ” 

Oliver sighs, but doesn’t respond. Someone from Yale would see him for what he was. A dropout, a dumb pretender. 

Walter hears his sigh through the receiver, and suddenly sounds just as tired as Oliver feels. “Oliver, you need people around you that you can trust. Who make you better. Stop making excuses and start looking for them.” 

_ Like those people exist.  _ “Yes, Walter.” 

“And Oliver?” 

“Yes, Walter?” 

“Fix the sign.” He hangs up with a click. 

_ The sign?  _

_______________

Felicity Smoak crosses her legs on the modern black leather lounger serving as her containment area. Arms criss-crossed across her chest, she watches the flat screen across the shiny marble reception space. CSPAN is on, and is broadcasting different chopper angles of the building she’s in. The three-story state of the art LED marquee wrapping this floor, and the two below her, now scrolls the words “MEAN CONSOLIDATED.” 

She smirks, a little self-satisfied. 

The linebacker who asked her politely to sit catches her, and gives her a stern look. She slumps back. She should be used to the perils of fighting the man by now. Her mom Donna was a textbook hippie, who had met her perpetually-absent father on a Greenpeace Boat. Now Donna is the reigning monarch of her own corner diner in Queens, but regularly closes the doors to chain herself to ancient trees, or lay down in front of bulldozers pointed towards historic buildings. Donna Smoak cannot tolerate injustice, and it rubbed off on Felicity.

But Felicity has no idea where her love of computers rubbed off from. Since she could remember, the mysteries of their motherboards had seemed like magic to her, magic she could manipulate, and master. She’d gotten a full ride to MIT at sixteen, and finished her masters by twenty. Unimpressed by the faculty’s reaction to her thesis on internet law and social justice, she’d plowed straight ahead to Harvard Law. She was going to change the world with a keyboard.

She sinks even further into her chair, tilting her head back to rest on the rear cushion. She wasn’t going to change the world without a job. When she graduated, she took a position at Starling City Legal Aid, helping victims of internet crime and identity theft. SCLA was great, and it’s where she had met her best friend Laurel Lance. It’s also where she had left with a bankers box of picture frames and half-dead office plants last Friday, after her grant funding had been cut. After a weekend of angry CNN-watching about the Queen Consolidated data breach, and a lot of wine and chip mint ice cream, her sign-hacking protest had seemed like a good idea. 

Now, it does not seem like a good idea. No one is going to hire her with a record.  _ Which she will most definitely have. _ She cracks an eye open, and watches the bodyguard approach, sitting up slowly and running her hands down her dress. 

“Ms. Smoak.”  _ Is he smiling?  _ “Mr. Queen will see you now.”  


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

When Dig hauls in a petite blonde, Oliver can’t help it. He gives her the once over and his eyebrows raise at the woman in a blue sheath dress with black panels highlighting her nipped-in waist. She’s on the narrow side, but her arms and legs look strong. Her hair is up in a ponytail, she has on reasonable, professional pumps, with careful makeup and no hose. It’s like she was trying to blend in with the workforce, look unremarkable.  _ Impossible _ . 

His second pass yields a different adjective. She looks…  _ defiant _ . Her chin is up, her fuschia lips are pursed, and her arms are crossed over her chest. She’s radiating stubbornness straight through the frames of her black glasses.  _ Still beautiful.  _

He draws himself up, matching her posture and trying to look intimidating. On some level he’s aware that he probably looks like a tool, but he needs every ounce of authority he can muster if he’s going to have any effect on … what did Diggle say her name was? 

_ Right. _ “Felicity Smoak” he begins in his CEO voice. He will admit to no one that he practices it in the shower, hoping to sound like he knows what he’s doing someday. 

She cocks her head. “Oliver Queen.” Damn, she has a CEO voice too. And she is clearly less than impressed. 

Fine. If she wants to play dirty, he will. “You broke into our offices and defaced our sign.” 

“You released customer information resulting in thousands of identity thefts, and are depriving citizens of the basic human necessity of internet access,” she fires back, equally as steely. 

He has no response, and Felicity uses the opening to continue. Clearly, he triggered something there. “Your customers pay an exorbitant amount to access a resource designed to be  _ free and helpful _ .” She steps closer, boring into him with her eyes and uncrossing her hands to waive them in emphasis. “Your services are essential to them to access the legal system, banking, healthcare, and communications, and instead of helping them you charge them a fortune and  _ then  _ offer up their information on a platter to the dark web.” 

Oliver looks to Dig for backup as Felicity gesticulates. His expression tells Oliver clearly that he’s enjoying this.  _ Dammit.  _

Felicity is on a roll. “Do you know how long it took me to get into your network? Three minutes. It was even easier to get into the building! You are at the cutting edge of information technology, and you can’t even protect your own system!” 

  
She rails on and he tunes her out, furious and hopeless at the same time. God, she is so right, and it makes him angry. He knows QC has flaws, and he wants to fix them, but he has no idea where to start. Every time he tries with IT, and Systems Security, he hits a stone wall of middle-aged men with big paychecks and bigger egos.

He watches Felicity pace as she numbers something about malware off on her fingers. This woman breaks into his office, changes his damn sign, and then pokes at every single sensitive spot in his company that he feels too overwhelmed, too unprepared to fix. He flexes his hands in irritation.

_ Time to play the last card in his deck.  _ He waits for an opening, then through his teeth, he grits out a question _. _ “So, you admit to breaking in and changing the marquee.” 

“Yes.” She shoots back, equally as annoyed. “The world should know the truth about your company. Are you going to have me arrested?” 

“ _ YES _ .” He’s infuriated, and though he’ll never admit it, intimidated. By a five-foot-three blonde with pink lips.  _ What the hell, Oliver.  _

“What are you going to charge me with?” The suddenly cool tone of her voice sounds a tiny chime in his brain that tells him to be scared. 

He ignores it. Now he’s pissed. People  _ don’t  _ challenge him like this. Women  _ don’t  _ get under his skin like this. She’s winning, and she knows it. “Everything. All of it. You better get a good lawyer.” 

_ “ _ I  _ am  _ a good lawyer.” She bites right back, standing taller in her pumps. 

The tiny alarm bell speeds to double time.  _ This just got a little more interesting. _ Gears start to shift in Oliver’s brain, and he quints at her. “Where did you go to school?” he queries, willing his voice to sound neutral.

She steps back a little, defensive and confused by the new direction of their argument. “I have a bachelors and masters in computer engineering from MIT and a law degree from Harvard. I specialize in digital law and patents, but I can assure you I'm more than capable of criminal defense.” 

_ Holy shit. Someone dropped a very angry, very smart, very hot gift right into his lap.  _

Oliver pushes away the thought of her in his lap. He wills his brain to leave fight mode --  _ that’s it’s favorite mode _ , Thea’s voice mocks internally -- and tries to think like his dad. There’s one result here that helps QC here and it involves her not leaving this office in handcuffs. 

Oliver stretches his neck to the left, then right. This is going to be a huge pain in his ass. He looks at her again, tapping her fingernails impatiently against her arm. A huge,  _ huge  _ pain in the ass. 

He chooses his next words carefully. “Ms. Smoak, would you like to go to jail?” 

“No.” Her flat answer is devoid of eye contact, but still defiant. 

“Would you like to work for me?” 

A discovery: Felicity Smoak has no poker face. The way her mouth drops in a perfect “O” of shock makes Oliver smirk.  _ Point for me. _

“Ms. Smoak, you have two options here. You can go with Mr. Diggle and wait for the police to arrest you, or you can stay here and work for me.” He pauses. 

She doesn’t storm out.  _ Good sign.  _

“I will  _ listen  _ to your suggestions about the issues you raised, I’ll pay you well, and I won’t charge you for breaking in to the building. In return, I need you to repair our system weaknesses, expand our network capacity by twenty-five percent, revamp our image, and take Queen Consolidated public. In twelve months.” 

He can practically see her brain rebooting. 

“And,” he adds as an afterthought, “you have to fix my sign.” 

__________________

Being speechless is at thing that rarely happens to Felicity. 

Okay. It  _ never  _ happens. Not even when she walks into the office of the millionaire CEO of the company she just hacked and finds a freaking underwear model. The eyes. The jaw. The stubble. She had to focus extra hard on looking angry so she didn’t gawk at his thighs in suit pants, but she manages to babble and rant away just like she would in front of Laurel and Sara. 

Then he tries to hire her. 

_ What. The. Actual. Hell. _  She thought she was prepared for anything today. She was certainly prepared to go to jail-- Laurel is on standby with bail money that constitutes the last of her savings -- and instead she just got a job offer from an American Ninja Warrior running a Fortune 500 company.  _ Am I on drugs?  _ She considers discreetly pinching herself, but Oliver pipes back in first. 

“The salary and benefits we could offer you as corporate counsel, and an interim Chief Information Officer is very competitive...” Queen clears his throat as he trails off and picks up a pen. 

Her brain wakes up at that.  _ Interim CIO?  _

“CIO? What happened to Walter?” her brow furrows with concern. Walter was a guest lecturer at MIT at one of her favorite classes on digital solutions to social injustice while he was at STAR Labs. He’d stayed almost an hour late to answer her eager questions, and she strongly suspected he was behind the STAR Scholarship her senior year that was the only reason she made rent. 

“How do you know my stepfather?” Oliver has stopped writing to study her.

She schools her features, aware that she’s given away too much. “From MIT.” She doesn’t elaborate. Oliver’s shoulders slump a little, and the clear surface of his desk becomes fascinating to him. 

“He just had surgery, and in his labs after the doctors found some cancerous cells. He’ll be in chemo for a year.” He looks so deflated. How is it possible that a minute ago she wanted to kick this man in the shin, and now she wants to hug him.  _ Don’t hug him _ . 

“It’s not…” he winces, and looks at her. “It’s not public yet. If you could keep that between us…” he trails off. 

She’s staring. He’s painfully handsome when he’s not simmering with anger.  _ He was pretty hot when he was angry too.  _ Felicity shakes herself. “Of course. Of course. I’m… sorry. Are you okay?” 

Oliver looks up at her, face unreadable. After a second, it becomes clear he’s not going to answer, and Felicity corrals her stampeding thoughts.  _ She could make a difference to people, from the inside, on a scale she never imagined. She could influence social internet policy on an industry level.  _

Her thoughts veer towards the more practical.  _ She could pay more than $20 towards her student loans in a month. She could buy produce again.  _ It breaks her resolve. 

She nods, and walks briskly to the glass desk in front of Oliver. She picks up the slip of paper he wrote on, and tries to keep her face blank at the number of zeroes. She’s pretty sure she fails. 

Oliver doesn't notice. He is still looking at his desk, and the change in him makes her pause. Where did that other guy go, the one who was ready to throw her in the back of a police car? The one who puffed up like an angry peacock when she walked in the door? This other Oliver Queen was…. still handsome, obviously. But he looked lonely. Different than every other time Felicity had seen him on TV or in a tabloid, more human, more vulnerable.  _ How many people got to see this Oliver?  _

This Oliver she could work for. 

She extends her hand across the icy lake of the desk. “I accept.” 

He looks up at her with surprise, then schools his expression back to what she’s quickly coming to call  _ CEO Face.  _ “Excellent.” He clears his throat, shakes her hand, then looks at his bodyguard. Felicity half wants to beg for the other Oliver back. Half of her is still considering a swift kick to the shin. “Diggle, please escort Ms. Smoak down to Human Resources.” 

“And Dig?” She and the giant turn back to her new boss. “Keep an eye on her.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update -- will get back on track with Chapter 3 on Monday!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I normally don't do notes at the start of a chapter, but I have to tell you that this is my favorite chapter that I have ever written. Not that I have written a lot, but this one is MY FAVORITE.

**Chapter 3**

Felicity slaps her purse down on her desk, and watches Oliver’s head swivel towards her office. When he said he wanted to keep an eye on her two weeks ago, she didn’t think he meant literally. Their offices are two sheets of glass wall and twenty feet of snowy white marble lobby apart, and they can watch each other like fish in bowls. She takes a seat behind her desk. She didn’t really need four computer monitors, but the spread blocks him from her line of sight. Getting caught staring at your hot boss is not a good look, and there’s only so many times she could pretend to be looking out their shared southern wall at the top-floor city view before he’d think she was a lunatic. 

“Good morning Felicity” Diggle pops his head in. “I’m grabbing some coffee -- want a latte?” 

“Yes, yes please.” She fumbles for her purse to give him cash, but he waves her off. 

“Perk of the job, remember? Nonfat vanilla, right?” She thanks him, then silently thanks Yaweh that the muscle that had ferried her around on her first day was actually a giant chocolate teddy bear who loved showing off pictures of his toddler. John Diggle wasn’t the only person who has been kind to her here, but he was definitely the one who put her the most at ease in her new environment. He was ex-military, and confessed to her after the first three days of comped gourmet salads for lunch that he still felt weird accepting all the lavish amenities of the job.

“But, Oliver cares about his people,” he’d added, “he wants to make everyone happy, and he's really trying to figure out how. I just sort of go with it, now.” 

She boots up her computer, and starts moving files to her tablet, stealthily watching the CEO through a crack in her monitors. He squints at his computer screen, then wiggled his mouse uselessly. She grins around the pen clenched between her molars. Oliver was the biggest surprise of all. 

She’s not sure when it happened, or how it did in just two weeks, but she trusts him. Oliver has a massive inferiority complex, and can’t communicate his emotions worth a shit, but she trusts him. After their first disastrous Monday meeting, she’d filled out her paperwork and been issued a security badge for the following Wednesday. Oliver watched over her shoulder as she fixed the sign using his office desktop. 

She’d spent Tuesday frantically charging business formal attire to her protesting credit card, and come back Wednesday to John waiting in the lobby to escort her to the top floor, her office, and her former nemesis.

Felicity expected a painful introduction to corporate culture, replete with vision boards, and mission statements. Instead, Oliver reiterated the goals he’d laid out after their argument, and asked if she had any thoughts on how to accomplish them. 

Then he’d listened. 

That’s what had shocked Felicity the most. He had really, actually listened as she sketched an outline for using fiber optics to increase the network size and speed, implement an interactive customer service portal, and detail the lines of inquiry she’d approach for a stock offering. She also laid out a triage plan for the most critical security issues she could identify from her hacking, and guessed at some she couldn’t. She talked to him like a businessman, never taking for granted that he might not fill his life with tech or legal lingo like she did, and explaining things simply but fully. 

He asked questions. He took notes, as Diggle’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. And when she’d finished, he’d sat back, nodded, and considered her carefully. 

“Thank you, Felicity.  We have --” he looked at Dig with a query. 

“Thirty minutes, Oliver.” 

He nodded. “We have thirty minutes, and I recall promising to listen to your thoughts on some social issues important to you.” 

Laurel jokingly called her the Queen of Babble, but now she felt undeserving of the title.  _ He remembered.  _ How could this man make her speechless twice in as many meetings? 

She scrambled to stay collected. “I’d like to put together a proposal for your review with some data relevant to the company, and set up a follow-up so we can determine how those fit into the action items we’ve discussed, Mr. Queen.” 

“Oliver, please,” he gently corrected. “That sounds fine.” She’d laid the report on his desk on Friday, and watched him slide it into his briefcase at five o’clock. To her amazement, he read it over the weekend, and had thoughtful questions on Monday. 

She had no idea what to expect next from Oliver Queen. But she did know what to expect from their nine o’clock meeting with the Senior IT Team. She snapped her tablet shut and stood, glad she had worn her tallest heels for the ensuing battle. 

Felicity crosses the reception area, and raps on Oliver’s door. “Ready to make things happen?” 

____________________

“It’s just not going to happen.” 

Oliver deflates a little, fighting to keep his shoulders square. He coolly looks at each of the six men at the table opposite himself and Felicity, and considers what objects in the minimal conference room he could throw at them. This meeting has only been going on for twenty minutes, and already they’ve backhandedly trashed Felicity, his father, and him. They treat him like he is a clueless kid with a floppy disc playing CEO. He glances over at Felicity, who has been tapping furiously on her tablet for the last five minutes since someone referred to her as “the girl.”  _ No help from that quarter.  _

He tries again. “Ms. Smoak’s proposal indicates that switching our current projects to fiber optics could cut costs and enable us to undertake new development lines three months sooner than--” 

“Look, Mr. Queen.” The clear ringleader interrupts him, and Oliver bristles. “I’m sure you’re getting a lot of great  _ advice _ from Ms. Smoak” -- the insinuation makes Felicity’s taps double in speed -- “but that’s just not how our system works.” 

“We could have someone come up and explain it to you” his second in command chips in obsequiously, “but the developments you are discussing are just to high-level to have this conversation right now.” 

Oliver feels defeated. Humiliated. He put himself out there for Felicity’s plan, and these guys are destroying him. They turned his inexperience on him like a blade. It’s excruciating, and he wills himself not to turn pink. 

“Mr. Wilson, you won the auction. That Mets bobblehead is yours.” Felicity’s voice comes out of nowhere. In his cloud of frustration, he didn’t register that her typing stopped. They drag him through the mud and she’s talking about  _ bobbleheads?  _

But the circus captain swivels to her owlishly. She pivots her tablet to the men, showing an email inbox, then uses her finger to flip to another screen, fixing the second with a gaze. “Mr. Strong, your test results are in. You have terrible cholesterol. Also Big Belly Burger confirmed your lunch delivery.” She turns to a third, who has been playing on his phone under the table for the duration of the meeting. 

“Mr. Jones, I took the liberty of deleting your Candy Crush account and re-routing the money from your in-game purchases to Oxfam.” His jaw flaps at her and she smiles sweetly. “It seemed like a more efficient use of company time.” 

She snaps her tablet shut and stands, and Oliver wills himself not to gape. She looks like thunder.

She points to each in turn. “Jones, you’re going to send me a crew training outline and a proposed materials order for immediately converting to fiber optic installations by end of day tomorrow, or Angry Birds is next." The man audibly squeaks, but Felicity ignores him and launches on to the simpering sidekick guy. 

"Strong, you’re canceling that customer service outsourcing contract you signed with India  _ today _ , and scouting a location in the city for a call center." When his mouth opens to reply, she cuts him off. "I do not care about the repayment penalties in the cancellation clause, I'll take them out of R&D's budget because all those idiots have been doing for four months is building sex robots."

Someone down the far end has the decency to make a strangled sound, but Felicity isn't done yet. She pauses, breathes, and pivots to her last victim, oblivious to the terror and awe emanating from the other side of the table. 

“Wilson, you are going to fire thirty percent of your department  _ that I select  _ and rehire people with actual network security experience. The twentieth floor is no longer your personal circle jerk. I’m running a network attack on you in the next week, and if you can’t prevent it, you’re done.” She flattens her palms on the table to bring herself closer to his eye level, and the man quails under her direct attention. “And  _ the girl _ is  _ fucking good. _ ” She draws back up to her full height. Even Oliver is a little afraid.

She shifts back to the assembled men. “ _ I am your boss _ . This is not a discussion, and I am not a blonde in a skirt you assholes can jerk around. You will do what I say, or I will find someone who will. Preferably a  _ fucking female who will _ .” Her arms cross, and every single one of her detractors shifts uncomfortably. 

“Furthermore, Oliver Queen is  _ my  _ boss. He is smarter than all of you combined, and if anyone--” she fixes Strong with a particularly steely glare-- “talks down to him again, I will personally release your online search history.” 

She looks down at Oliver, and he grows under the fierceness of her stare. “Mr. Queen has trusted me with specific objectives, and I  _ will not fail him."   _ She looks back up, but he can’t tear his eyes away. He hired a fucking Valkyrie. He has no idea what his face says right now, but he hopes it is  _ thank you.  _ She’s let her point sink in, and now she uncrosses her arms and makes a dismissive motion towards the door. 

“What are you doing?  _ Go _ .” The men scramble to obey, and Diggle’s face fights to hide a gleeful expression. 

“And Mr. Marshall?” All the men stop and turn back, and the trimmest shifts uncomfortably, face reddening. He seemed a little too eager to escape the meeting unscathed, Oliver notes. 

“You’re fired.” The man blanches as Oliver swivels to stare at Felicity. “Using your work email to send explicit messages that facilitate an extramarital affair is completely inappropriate.” 

“But, what -- you can’t do that!” Marshall explodes. Felicity remains calm, fingers smoothing over the table top. 

“Mr. Marshall, you are an at-will employee of Queen Consolidated, and can be fired for no cause at any time. Please leave peacefully,” she levels him with a blue stare, “or I can forward these emails, which legally belong to the company, to your wife.” 

The rest of the IT Board inches away, as Mr. Marshall flaps his mouth like a trout, groping for a response. He fails. Defeated, he turns and leaves with his colleagues. 

Oliver is stunned, but shakes himself. Looking at Dig, who is beaming like a proud father, he nods. “Mr. Diggle, please make sure Mr. Marshall gathers his effects and leaves promptly. And alert security in case he tries to re-enter.” Diggle give a head bob in the affirmative, and ducks out of the room. 

They walk back from the executive conference room in silence, Felicity’s heels tapping on the marble floor. He watches her ponytail swing as she clips along in front of him, and tries to remember the last time someone defended him like that. He’s been going at it alone for so long, that it’s a weird feeling, being trusted. Having an ally. Maybe a friend. As he paces along, trying to keep up, he can’t think of a place he  _ wouldn’t  _ follow her. 

He tails her into her office and stands in the doorway studying his shoes. He hasn’t thanked someone, really, thanked someone in a long time, and he’s not sure where to start with that insanely impressive display of badassery. 

“Felicity, I --” 

From behind her monitor array, she stops him with her hand. Oliver freezes, and meets her eyes. Her blue stare is ice and fire, and her voice is final. “Oliver, no one gets to treat me like that. No one gets to treat  _ you _ like that.  _ No one _ .” 

“You are remarkable.”

She looks up at him again. This time a small smile curves her face. “Thank you for remarking on it.” 

Holding her eyes, he nods. After another moment of eye contact, he wonders what bridge has just formed between them, what thread wove itself together in those few seconds. Something is different. Something is new.

Crossing the lobby between their executive suites, he sits at his chair and swivels towards the clear partition. He can see her tapping away at her keyboard, chewing her pen. It's red. For the first time at work in a long time, Oliver smiles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will see you next Monday and HAVE A GOOD WEEK.
> 
> Update: THANK YOU FOR THE COMMENTS OMG I'M BLUSHING AND DYING OF HAPPINESS.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Having someone he could trust around the office, who actually knew things, is new for Oliver. Before he knows it, half a year has passed through the glass of his office windows. Countless meetings, late nights, and takeout orders have given him more faith in Felicity than he has in God and NASDAQ combined.

The things he asked Felicity to do in twelve months, she’s conquered in six. QC’s network has expanded by fifteen percent in size, and twenty in speed and reliability, and they are launching a subsidized fiberoptic option in the Glades next month.  _ Suck it, Google.  _ They have a new security expert, a whiz kid from Taiwan that even Felicity can’t break. It's driving her nuts. Their new call center is running with people hired from Starling City, and they have chat and self-help functionalities in beta testing that are getting positive feedback. Their stock offering is in two weeks. 

Before he leaves on Friday, Oliver looks at his notepad, filled with to-do items for the next week. He looks at his email, his neat “in” and “out” trays. He actually  _ feels  _ like a CEO, and he knows who he to thank. He sneaks a little peek to his right at Felicity. She’s wearing the panda shoes today. 

He has no idea how he found someone that just  _ gets  _ him. Felicity may babble, or take odd tangents, but she really makes so much sense if you pay attention. She a freaking genius, a genius who stands up for him, and for herself, and gets his dark jokes, and she can tie his tie quicker than he can. Last week, when he asked her about two models of smart watch, she quirked her head at the little screens he held out. 

“Well, disregarding the fact that these are both susceptible to third-party attacks, and were probably made in factories with questionable labor practices…” she trailed off, taking them and pushing the buttons on the side of each. One gave an awkward squeal. The other, a gentle chime. She tossed the chiming one to him. “This one is less annoying.”

He sat back. “I’ve asked five people the same question and no one had came up with that answer.” 

She was already out the door with the other and a wave. “I’m keeping this to take apart and reprogram!” 

Three months ago, when he’d been antsy at a lunch meeting, she called him on it, and he answered her truthfully. 

“I normally work out over lunch, and if I don’t I get kind of restless.” He was embarrassed. He’d always had a problem focusing, and everyone thought it was immature. His teachers, his parents, everyone. 

Within a day, he had no more lunch meetings, and Felicity was waiting at the elevator to ride a floor down with him. She perched on a stack of sparring mats in his personal gym and quizzed him on talking points, filled him in on industry news, and updated him on her weekly meetings while he jumped up the salmon ladder or punched a bag. 

He shakes his head. She just… got him. She never nagged, or scolded, and just gave him advice he feels like someone should have imparted in high school. LIke how to interview new hires, or spell check an email. That one had been embarrassing, but he’d taken in in stride because all her advice came from her insanely deep well of kindness.  _ Make a list,  _ she once told him.  _ There will always be one thing on it that seems the most important. If you do that first, you’ll never be wrong.  _

Oliver wondered if Tony Robbins and Felicity Smoak had met. 

His mother and Walter are disgustingly pleased. Moira Queen is a shrewd businesswoman, and watching the QC stock estimates tick up is all the proof she needs that Felicity is good news. Walter actually remembered Felicity from MIT, and gently grasps Oliver’s wrist as they wrapped up their small talk one that night after dinner. 

“She’s a good one, Oliver,” he says with quiet meaning. “Don’t let her get away.” 

Before Oliver can respond, his sister Thea bursts into the room and throws herself at him. After six months in Paris at a fashion house, she’s been back for two weeks and won’t leave Oliver’s side. “Ollie, Ollie! I forgot to ask, what are you getting me for my birthday next week?” 

Oliver’s smile freezes. “It’s a surprise, Thea!” He inches away, and reaches for his mobile. He’s dialing Felicity before he’s out the door. 

\---------------

Felicity throws her phone down on the high top between Laurel and Sara, then picks it up just as suddenly. She pats its enormous screen.  _ Poor phone. _ It isn’t its fault that Oliver is a big fat jerk sometimes. 

“Was it the FCC paperwork?” Laurel has been the principal source of venting for her IPO frustrations, and when her phone lit up with Oliver’s name she excused herself, worried about their last round of filings. 

“No,” she looked glumly down at her appletini. “Oliver didn’t know what to get his sister for her birthday.” 

Laurel crosses her arms. She’s heard all about Oliver’s boundary-crossing in the last six months. But it’s news to her sister Sara, who is visiting for the week.

“What?!” Sara interjects, sloshing out half her beer. “Whose boss calls them on a Friday night to talk about that kind of stuff? I hope you told him off, Felicity.” 

Laurel’s knowing gaze swivels back to her. 

“I told him that all she wanted was to spend time with him, then booked them a helicopter ride and rock climbing excursion for two upstate next month on his credit card,” Felicity mumbles into her glass miserably.

Sara gets up to replace her spilled beer, and Laurel leans in gently. “Felicity, you have been working so much lately. I haven’t seen you in like six weeks -- if it wasn’t Barry’s birthday, you’d be eating takeout and glued to your laptop. You have no personal life. Maybe it’s time to re-evaluate.” 

Felicity sighs. Laurel is right. Oliver wasn’t completely honest in his job description, and in addition to being his CIO and attorney, she also feels like his personal assistant. She can’t count the number of times she’s wanted to yell “ _ I’M IN MENSA”  _ at him, or the times she has  _ actually _ yelled it at him. She’s explored every option short of a televised intervention to set up boundaries with him, but every time, his hopeful expression, the trusting look, makes her relent. Felicity looks in her mirror in the morning, and tell herself that she is a bad-ass social justice warrior-hacker-attorney who admittedly has a massive soft spot for her secretly-sweet boss.  _ There are worse crimes _ , she reasons. 

She works seventy hours a week. Her bank account is bursting, but she has no time to spend the income. She never goes out. The only happy person is her student loan servicer. The work is challenging, but she actually feels like she’s making progress, building confidence in Queen Consolidated. And it’s CEO. 

She groans, and drops her head to the table. “You’re right, Laurel. You are.” She told Laurel about the smartwatch, and the tie, but after that, it seemed like she kept straying further and further over the boundary and can’t admit it. She  _ definitely  _ didn’t tell Laurel about the gym.

Her mind, and her thighs quivered.  _ The gym.  _ She’s glad her face is hidden against the table. As Sara returns with another round, Felicity pops her head up with resolve. 

“Enough. It’s Barry’s twenty-seventh birthday, and we both agreed that if we didn’t find someone by the time we were thirty, we’d get married,” she smiles brightly. “That means three more years, and I’ll have a personal life again!” 

At that moment, her dear, awkward, lanky friend taps on a mic. “Everyone?” Barry begins uncertainly, and the feedback squawks. He shifts it away, laughing nervously at the beautiful girl holding his hand. “I want to thank you all for coming out to celebrate my birthday, and introduce you all to my new girlfriend, Iris!” 

Felicity’s smile freezes. 

“Iris,” he turns to her, “I know it hasn’t been very long, but I love you so, so much.” He drops to a knee. “Will you give me the best birthday present ever and be my wife?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and for your kudos, comments, and bookmarks! I love and appreciate them all!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Barry’s proposal is the last part of the night Felicity remembers clearly. Unfortunately, she remembers it very, very clearly. 

Having no social life means she doesn’t drink very often, but she decides to make an exception. And as she does in all things, Felicity gets efficiently and expertly drunk. Between rounds of Blondie karaoke, heaping mortifyingly hearty and detailed congratulations on Barry and Iris, and darts, she gets the most inebriated she’s been since she passed the bar. 

Sara and Laurel are sweet, but she can’t stand their mothering looks. At an embarrassingly early hour, the Lance sisters tell her it’s time to call it, and offer to ferry her home. She waves them off. As excellent friends do, they refuse to leave until she agrees to walk home with them, and won’t even let her get into a taxi alone. That leaves her one option. 

_ Oliver, I’m at O’Mally’s on Hudson Street. I need you to send Dig to get me.  _

She looks at her text, and sends a second.  _ You owe me.  _

The reply comes quickly.  _ Five minutes.  _

He’s true to his word, five minutes later Diggle slides up to the curb in jeans and a black polo. “Felicity” he nods, opening the back door for her. Laurel and Sara watch her pour herself into the back seat, and after confirming Dig’s QC identification badge, turn towards home. 

They are good friends, she tells herself, as she straightens the skirt of her dress. Then a flash of motion catches her eye and her scream redefines bloody murder.

Oliver is in the back seat next to her. 

“Felicity!” He looks shocked. “Are you okay?” 

“What are you doing here?!” She’s panting. Now he’s confused. 

“You asked us to come get you.” 

“Nooooooo” she draws out the syllable, extending an index finger. “I asked  _ Diggle  _ to come and get me.” She hears the drivers side door shut, and they start moving. 

“Why couldn’t I come too?” he looks hurt. “I’m your friend just like John is, I don’t-” 

“You aren’t my friend, Oliver!” she bursts out, and reminds herself never to come back to a place that obviously doesn’t respect the mighty and unmerciful power of tequila. “John and I both  _ work  _ for you! You treat me like a friend, you ask me all kinds of questions about --” she tries to gesture, but her hands get tangled in her purse strap, “--watches and --” she struggles “-- vacations, and I’ve met your family, and I’ve seen you shirtless.” She drops her hands. “I’ve seen you shirtless  _ a lot.  _ That’s not normal for a boss!” 

He looks hurt, and she realizes that this makes no sense, but hell, neither does string theory. “I work  _ all the time _ , I never see my friends, and my back-up husband just got engaged!” 

“Your what got engaged?” 

She plows on. “I have no life outside of work! I can’t keep plants alive, the only things in my fridge are kosher ketchup and takeout boxes, and I haven’t had sex in a year!” The last one makes him draw back, and somewhere embarrassment registers. “And it wouldn’t matter, if I was helping people! But I’m not!” She’s crying now. 

“No one…” she begins brokenly. She’s tired. So, so tired, so frustrated with pieces she can’t assemble into coherent thoughts. “No one wants me. I’m going to be alone forever.” 

“Felicity, you are brilliant. But that is stupid.” 

“NO IT’S NOT” she wails, throwing herself against his chest dramatically. “I’m going to die alone because I’m a career-obsessed, hell-bent workaholic feminist she-devil. I’m not even  _ a real blonde. _ ” Outburst complete, she buries her face in his shoulder.  

Oliver gathers close, lets her arms slide around his neck and brings his hands up to to stroke her hair. It’s comforting. And very warm. Some part of her brain that is only moderately drunk knows that she will regret this on Monday, but the other ninety-eight percent is busy cuddling into her very-built boss with a singsong “ _ I don’t care _ .” Oliver clears his throat, and she relaxes, tears subsiding, preparing for a standard platitude.  _ There’s someone for everyone. It just takes time. Look on the bright side.  _ Ugh.  _ Thanks for trying, Oliver, but you can’t fix this one.  _

Then he changes the game. 

“Felicity. I wouldn’t have hired you if I didn’t want you.” 

________________

God, this woman is kryptonite. She’s drunk, she’s upset, and he probably has heaped too much on her at work. He thinks suddenly of all the things she’s given him over the last six months - confidence, a voice, a reprieve from the crushing disappointment of his family - and for the first time wonders if he’s given enough back. Her six-figure salary and free coffee suddenly seems inadequate.

And he'd have to process that whole friend thing at a later date, because there is a woman crying in his lap.  _ Not friends? _

Oliver forces himself to refocus on the situation at hand. His usual methods for comforting a beautiful, crying woman are absolutely one hundred percent out of the question. Oliver grimaces. Maybe he should … talk to her. About feelings. He resolves to give it a try, to give  _ something _ , but the first thing that comes out of his mouth is a disaster.

He can practically hear Dig’s thoughts from the front seat.  _ What the hell, man? I want you? WHO ADMITS THAT?!  _

Now she’s looking at him, eyes rimmed in tears, and he panics. This is not good. He is not considerate, or thoughtful, and apparently trying to be sends every good thing in his life up in flames. He’s also probably going to get sued for sexual harassment. He hedges. 

“I’m a shallow asshole, you know that.” He gives nervous laugh, moving to talk into her hairline so he doesn’t have to make eye contact. “And I didn’t know you, at first. I just knew you were beautiful. And sexy. But now I know you are smart, and capable, and tough -- Jesus, you’re tough -- and your trust means--” he pauses, because he’s got a mouthful. 

Of Felicity. 

Her hands grip the sides of his head and her lips press chastely, insistently to his. It’s so soft, so sweet and full that he stops breathing. One hand slides down along his jawline, scratching in his stubble, and the other wraps behind his neck. Oliver acts purely on instinct, tilting his head slightly. Felicity opens under him, and the spark bursts into flame. The palm still around the nape of his necks digs in with fingernails, and his hands leap into action, squeezing her waist and stroking fingertips over her lower back, before straying to the hem of her skirt.  _ God, touching her legs is heaven. Actual heaven.  _ Oliver keeps it PG, always a gentleman, especially with a tipsy lady, but he can’t, he won’t stop kissing her. Some part of him hopes he will never stop kissing her. Their mouths shape, then reshape over each other, every press fitting together fluidly. 

He wasn’t lying when he said he was attracted to her. But as her tongue wanders languidly in his mouth, the depth of this kiss, the depth of  _ them _ , makes it different than any kiss he’s ever had. Those were pitiful. Less than a memory. He’s kissing the most brilliant, kind, person he’s ever met, who trusts and believes in him. She can say what she wants about friends and bosses, but he can admit the truth. He’s kissing his best friend. Nothing else will ever compare.

A macho part of his brain scoffs at the sentiment and he tells it to fuck right off. He’ll feel anything Felicity wants to make him feel. Her tongue slides across his, then flicks against the roof of his mouth. This can never stop. 

Then it stops. 

Oliver’s world careens, and he swears that the car, and the earth, and all other manner of cosmic forces halt suddenly. 

“Oliver” she whispers against his lips. His hands still, and every nerve in his body sits up in attention. Whatever she says next will be engraved on his mind for all of time. 

“I quit.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you have a great week! I appreciate you all !!!


	6. Chapter 6

Felicity calls in sick on Monday, and Oliver shrugs it off. He gave her space over the weekend, figuring that she was probably hungover, and embarrassed. Not that she has anything to be embarrassed about. She was drunk, and that kiss was  _ hot.  _ Oliver shifts in his chair, trying to find an inch or two of room in the groin of his slacks.  _ Really hot.  _

Oliver is pretty sure that if there was a CEO 101 book he ever bothered to read, the first chapter would probably be called “Don’t Kiss Your Employees.” Especially don’t kiss the ones who are geniuses and make grown men flee in terror and save your family business in half a year. And make you laugh. And trust you. He sighs, sinking back into his desk chair and squeezing his eyes shut.

He wills himself to believe that they will get through this. It was one kiss. They have been through so much together, he and Felicity, mountains of takeout and countless dry erase markers and big decisions and little decisions, together. One kiss can’t wipe out the fact that she has treats him like a real person, not the millionaire playboy everyone else sees. He’s told her things that he’s never told anyone, and she took it all in and used it to make him a better leader. A better person. 

_ We have to get through this.  _ He already has a list started, which he was quite proud of. It included an executive assistant, more vacation time, and maybe her own elliptical in the gym. Oliver glanced down at the Post-It.  _ Maybe an expense account.  _

Diggle walks in. “Where’s Felicity?” 

“Sick.” Oliver has to force himself not to look through the glass at her office. 

“But, Felicity is  _ never _ sick. She even came in after she got food poisoning at that Polish fusion place.” John looks worried, and pulls out his phone. Not mentioning Friday night is a kindness on his part.  _ I should give him an expense account too.  _ Oliver makes a note, and turns back to his head of security. 

“John, she’s fine, she’s probably just hungover.” The glance Dig fixes him with makes him stop and think. He looks over at her empty desk. It’s true, Felicity has never taken a sick day. She’s been here next to him every day for the last six months. Most of the time she was here earlier than him, and left after. 

Some vital organ sinks into his stomach uncomfortably. His phone rings. 

“This is Oliver Queen.” 

“Mr. Queen, this is Reema Kareem, I’m in human resources and I felt the need to alert you that I’ve gotten four reference requests and an employment verification form this morning for Felicity Smoak. Normally I wouldn’t report this but since Ms. Smoak is an executive officer -” 

“Thank you, Ms. Kareem.” he cuts her off. “I appreciate it. Have a good day.” 

He has no idea what she says next because his mouth is drying out and alarms are blaring in his head and  _ Felicity is trying to leave him.  _

_ Queen Consolidated,  _ his mind corrects.  _ She is trying to leave Queen Consolidated.  _

He looks up at Diggle, still composing a text to his CIO on his phone. Probably offering her chicken noodle soup or an escort to her new job. 

“Diggle.” The man looks up. “I need to make another list.” 

______________________

On Saturday, Felicity wallowed. Deep in the fiery pits of a furious hangover, she used GrubHub to order three ridiculously overpriced power-food smoothies at once. Then she threw them all away and ate potato chips. She had kissed her boss while she was drunk, and everything was ruined, and why didn’t they make seasons of the Great British Baking Show faster? 

Oliver didn’t call. 

On Sunday, Felicity got angry. Donna Smoak did not raise her to sulk, and she certainly didn’t raise her to be a victim. After a rousing mental of pep talk about controlling her own actions and reactions, Felicity Smoak carefully analyzed her options. She spent a  _ perfectly reasonable  _ amount of time considering moving to Thailand and training elephants before coming to a more practical solution. 

Booting up her laptop, she logged into LinkedIn for the first time in six months and emailed the CEOs of the five biggest tech companies in the city, with a resume and a stat sheet about her accomplishments at QC. By lunch she had three interviews. She celebrated by ordering Big Belly Burger, and the same GrubHub guy delivered it to her door, surreptitiously looking for the other people in her apartment eating all this food.  _ Screw you, Zachariah P.  _

Radio silence from Mr. Queen.

On Monday, Felicity sat in front of Roy Palmer, CEO of Palmer Technologies, and interviewed for a job. 

“So as you’ll see, Mr. Palmer, I have a successful track record in optimizing timelines for production, and I think I can help your new microchip project by --”

“Ms. Smoak.” He interrupts her, and she can’t read his expression. “You are immensely qualified, and Palmer Tech was thrilled to receive your inquiry, but our needs have changed and we are no longer filling this position.” 

“Your needs have changed?” She squints and him, and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Since yesterday?” 

He doesn’t respond, and a light bulb goes on.

“Oliver called you.” 

Palmer runs a hand through his dark hair. That’s his tell. He’s a good liar, and he even meets her eyes when he says “Of course not, no. Our needs have--”

“Yeah,  _ mmhm _ , your needs have changed. When did Oliver call you?” 

“Ms. Smoak, Queen Consolidated is one of our biggest vendors and--” 

“ _ When did Oliver call you?”  _ She’s using her loud voice now and Palmer answers instantly. 

“This morning.” 

She gathers up her folio and stands. “Thank you for your time.”

By the time the elevator dings on the floor of Oliver’s private gym, Felicity is pissed to a degree she has not experienced since she lost a spelling bee in the fourth grade. 

“OLIVER!” She blasts through the doors before they are fully open, at a flat-out roar. “You called every tech company in Starling City and blacklisted me!” 

She stands at the foot of the salmon ladder. Oliver is at the top,  _ shirtless, of fucking course,  _ and Felicity is willing to bet he’s seriously considering staying up there. Forever. He knows what she’s like when she’s mad. But he releases his grip, and drops neatly to the ground in front of her. 

“No, I didn’t.” He grabs a towel and pivots. “I called every tech company on the  _ East Coast  _ and blacklisted you.” 

She follows him as he lays on a foam mat and starts crunching, and fairly howls. “You’ve made me unhireable. I’ll have to apply at Big Belly Burger!”

“I called them too,” he grunts between reps. “They said you weren’t Big Belly material.” He sits up, and heads towards the en suite. 

The primal growl that rips from her is feral. She follows him into the bathroom. “You are  _ such an asshole _ . You can’t stop me from leaving. I quit, Oliver.  _ I QUIIIIITTT.”  _ She waves her arms, and  lets her voice ring against the subway tiles. 

Oliver turns the tap on the shower. Felicity would be lying if she said they didn’t have a protocol for carrying on emergency conversation while he showered, and she grumpily turns towards the wall and closes her eyes as she hears his pants swish down. She’s never looked. 

“Felicity,” his voice is calm through the partition. “You kissed me. You were drunk. I’m not upset, it’s fine, and we can totally just forget it happened. We have too much at stake for you to quit now. Can you hand me the -” 

Keeping her eyes closed, she chucks a washcloth from the usual spot on the counter towards the sound of his voice. “Oliver, this is not about the kiss. The things we’ve done at QC are great, they are huge, but working here has taken over my life.  _ You  _ have taken over my life. And I want it back.” Her hand finds the tube of body wash on the vanity and hands it towards the shower entrance too. 

He grabs the soap and continues. “So, take a vacation. After the stock offering, I’ll fly you to Hawaii, or Bali, or wherever you want to go for a week. Two weeks. You need a break, I get it, but you can’t just walk away from…” His pause is oddly timed. “Queen Consolidated.” The water shuts off. 

Eyes squeezing, Felicity hooks a towel off the wall and finds his waiting hand. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the smell of him, mixed with the steam of his shower, and wills herself to go on. She’s going to miss that smell. 

“Oliver, do you have pants on now?” 

“Mmmhm.” 

She turns, to him, and her eyes open slowly. They meet his in the foggy, blindingly white bathroom. 

“I’ll get you up to next Friday before the stock offering, and help you find my replacement. And them I’m leaving. This is my two week’s notice.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry to leave you with an extra week after that cliffhanger! Please enjoy these two nerds who can clearly not cope with feelings. 
> 
> Also this chapter has one of my FAVORITE Two Weeks Notice moments, where Sandra Bullock says she will have to work at Slurpee Heaven. Hugh Grant responds "No, I called them, they said you weren't Slurpee Heaven material." Had to work that in with our favorite burger joint.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I have some life stuff happening (not bad, just busy) that makes it difficult for me to keep a consistent Monday posting schedule. So, I'm just going to upload the rest of this work today for you to enjoy. I've truly appreciated all of your comments and will continue to respond to them as they roll in! I plan to take a bit of a break, and hope to be back with a work in another fandom in about a month. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Chapter 7**

It’s amazing how fast people will interview for a job when the salary could buy you a unicorn, Felicity muses. They’ve had two interviews today after calling a headhunter on Monday, and both guys were pretty qualified to be QC’s new corporate counsel. After assessing the options, Oliver decided to get a new attorney right away, and do a longer-term hunt for another CIO. It was a smart decision, and she hoped it was a sign that he was ready to move on.

“Hey,” she murmured to him quietly as they waited for their last candidate. “How is Walter? I saw him last week and he mentioned something about a new treatment?” 

Oliver sighs. “He’s responding well, but there are a lot of potential side effects. Mom is hopeful.” 

“Thea?” 

He doesn’t meet her eyes. “She decided not to go back to school next semester.” 

“Oliver, I --” 

John interrupts them, leading in a brunette who looks like she peeled herself out of an ad for teeth whitener. 

“Hello,” she greets them, hand extended. “I’m Helena Bertinelli. So, so thrilled to meet you.”  _ Aw hell.  _

Oliver shakes her hand, looking pleased, and Felicity waits her turn. When Helena turns to her, she waits for a flare of recognition. When none sparks, her irritation grows. 

“Miss Bertinelli, I’m Felicity Smoak. We graduated from Harvard the same year.” Helena cocks her head thoughtfully, like she’s trying to remember which one of them coasted through law school by having sex with people just long enough to access their notes and outlines, and never showing up to journal office hours due to “female problems.” 

_ I’ll give her a female problem _ , Felicity thinks.

“Hmmm…” their candidate considers her, from her toes to her head. “Are you sure?” 

“ _ Yes. I’m. Sure. _ ” Felicity's tone is no longer friendly, but Helena doesn’t notice. Her attention is focused like a tractor beam on Oliver. Thank God they had candidates who were actually  _ qualified  _ for this job. Might as well get this over with. 

He starts. “So, Helena, tell us about yourself.” 

“Well,” she begins, “after graduating from Harvard, I started my own company freelancing for tech startups. It’s been rewarding, but I’m ready to move on to a corporate atmosphere and be a part of a bigger team.”  _ Did she bat her eyelashes?  _

Felicity has to jump in. “Miss Bertinelli, your tech experience is relevant to Queen Consolidated, but I’m concerned about your lack of experience in --” 

“Federal exchange law?” Helena interrupts her and Felicity literally bites her tongue in anger. “I’ve actually had some great mentors in that area, even if I haven’t done it myself, and feel confident that I can complete the Queen Consolidated offering without issue, as long as the filing attorneys did their work correctly.” 

Felicity is halfway out of her chair when she realizes Oliver is talking. And he is saying something really, really terrible. 

“Well, I’ve heard enough, Helena. I think you’re the perfect fit for QC. When can you start?” 

\------

Felicity jogs after Oliver down the hallway, but he lengthens his strides. 

“Oliver, Oliver wait! I have to tell you about Helena, she’s--” 

He tunes her out until they are in his office, and he shuts the door behind her. She pulls up short in surprise. He only closes the door when they are about to fight. 

And they are about to fight. 

Oliver has been taught since infancy to not let personal feelings interfere with business. It’s practically on the family crest. And he’s been pretty freaking good at it, until the human wrecking ball that is Felicity Smoak crashed into his life. Oliver crosses his arms and looks at her in stony silence. Her words come back to him in sharp pangs.

_ You have taken over my life, and I want it back.  _

He doesn’t get hurt. He  _ will not  _ get hurt. He commands his mind to frame this as a betrayal. A betrayal that leaves him emotionally, mentally aching at the thought of not seeing her every day. Oliver thought they were friends. He thought they were a team. He’ll only admit it to himself, but when she sprinted out of the car on wobbly legs after quitting, he felt worse than his last four breakups combined. And it’s pushing him out of control. 

He decides where to start, and his voice is deadly. “Felicity.  _ You quit.  _ You made it very clear that you do not want to be my friend, or my employee, and I am trying to respect that. You want to leave.” 

Her eyes fill with emotion that twists him in the middle, but he stares her down. 

“I appreciate everything you have done for me personally, and for Queen Consolidated. I have tried to be more than fair in facilitating your exit.” He hopes she doesn’t notice that he’s using business words to mask the fact that he is absolutely drowning. He didn’t give enough. He’s not enough.  _ Please, please don’t let her read between the lines. _

Oliver realizes, conceptually, that he is lashing out in absolutely the worst possible way. Hiring someone he knows she’ll hate. Cutting her off. Cutting her out. He’s being hurtful, and mean, and he has no idea how to stop himself, but it’s the only thing that remotely quiets the howling inside him. 

“However, when you  _ decided  _ to leave, you forfeited all decision making power about QC personnel and business decisions.” He berates himself mentally.  _ You’re a total asshole. No wonder she wants to leave.  _

Despite his harshness, the beautiful, brave woman who wouldn’t be his friend still tries to save him. “Oliver.” No one has ever said his name with such gentleness, and he has to swallow. “I know you’re feeling--”

Oliver implodes. “ _ You don’t know what I’m feeling. _ ” He reels in a circle, pacing away from her, and veering from the script he knows HR would approve of. “I’m  _ feeling  _ like the person who I trust the most, whose opinion I care about the most, is stabbing me in the back and running away for one pointless kiss that  _ wasn’t even my fault.”  _ His orbit plants him back in front of her, and her hands are clasped. He’s a monster. 

“If you would like to rescind your resignation, this is your last chance to do so.” He knows his eyes are furious, but his chest is all hope.  _ Say you’ll stay. Say I’m enough to keep you here. _

Felicity doesn’t speak. She’s trying hard not to cry. Without a response, she turns and flees his office. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 

Miserable sounds like a vacation compared to the remainder of Felicity’s week. Since Helena’s interview, and the ensuing fight, Oliver has completely shut her out. It’s excruciating. She considers staying every fifteen minutes, but every time she looks at him in his office, punishing his keyboard, a flood of anger rushes over her. All their work, all the ways she thought he had changed…. Felicity hates being wrong. And she was very, very wrong. 

Helena starts next week, and Felicity knows she’ll need all weekend to mentally prepare. All of her notes and projects are in order, and she has to get through a couple of charity events before she can hide in the conference room for the rest of the week. The thought of Oliver looking at her across the lobby fills her with dread. 

She drops her bag unceremoniously by her door, and within twenty minutes she is ensconced on her couch with two bottles of white and her cactus pajama pants. Zachariah P. is on the way with enough Thai food for a family of four.  

After a generous helping of Pad See Ew, Felicity dozes on her couch watching Netflix.  _ Lara Jean,  _ she advises the girl on screen with the wisdom she absorbed with the wine,  _ Peter likes you. Can’t you see it? _

Then Felicity is back in the car with Oliver, and her legs are over his lap. He’s whispering into her hair that she’s beautiful, and smart and strong, and they’re kissing again. She’s kissing him again, and all the sensations overwhelm her. His rough jawline. The rasp of his hair under her fingers, the smell of him that she only gets in diluted puffs from the steam of the shower. He welcomes their connection, hands finding her waist, and her thighs. She wiggles, impatient for them to move up her skirt. 

His mouth over hers is a revelation. Content to let her lead, Oliver welcomes her tongue with strokes, and lets her explore his mouth at a decadent pace. Their lips move, and the suction is divine as they slot together more fully. 

“Oliver” she whispers against his lips, and she pauses. She can feel him straining towards her, to hear, to taste, to touch. His erection under her leg is iron. 

_ If this kiss is going to ruin my life, I might as well make it a worthwhile disaster.  _

At the part where in her current reality, she severed ties with her job and her best friend, Felicity doesn’t say “I quit.” She looks deep into Oliver’s eyes, and pulls the pin on a completely different grenade.

“I want you to taste me.” 

Oliver groans, and immediately he’s on his knees in front of the leather car seat, sliding his fingers up her thighs under her skirt. They work her hem up inch by inch, until she’s lifting her hips to help Oliver slide down her underwear and bunch her skirt up to her waist. 

Once she’s exposed, he takes a moment to look at her wet folds. She watches his eyes drink her in, already juicy and pink, and he licks his lips before swallowing hard. His eyes flick to hers, and she feels naughty, and desperate. She parts her legs for him in invitation, never breaking eye contact, and pants as the cool air of the car meets the moisture coating her. 

He takes the bait, and reaches out a trembling finger, dragging the blunt tip of his digit slowly, gently from the neat patch of hair at her mound all the way down to her opening, ghosting over what feels like miles of sensitive flesh. Oliver pauses there, resting his finger against her. 

Usually, stopping to think is not Oliver’s strong suit, and Felicity curses the universe for making this moment the exception. He’s circling her gently without pushing inside, and she could weep with anticipation. She can feel her heartbeat in her clit. 

Suddenly, Oliver is there, taking her pulse with his tongue. He lathes the flat of it over her, and pushes the thick, waiting finger inside her, crooking it up as if to reunite with his mouth. He starts working back and forth, first slowly, then adding a second finger and firming his tongue to a point. He works over her, fingers and mouth in unison, as if their greatest objective in life is to synchronize perfectly and drive Felicity insane. 

She can’t last. The dual sensations, the perfect tempo, are working her up and up and up. She has no idea how long he can do this for, but if she finds out she may never recover. 

Oliver’s fingers keep moving, but suddenly, there are teeth lightly grazing her, and then lips, sucking  _ hard  _ on her swollen nub. Abrupt, hot, wet, needy, begging, Felicity comes apart, hugging Oliver’s fingers with her inner walls as he suckles her. The aftershocks alone are better than her last five orgasms combined. 

Her eyes open blearily, and she finds him bowed over her reverently in the dark. She’s slumped down in the seat, supported by her shoulders, hips scooted forward to be nearer to his magical mouth. 

“Felicity” he murmurs against her mound. “I need you.” 

“Oliver,” she gasps, bucking under him. “Oliver, yes.” 

In a flash, his zipper is open, and she can barely see him in the tight, dark car as he pulls her hips closer to the edge of the seat and aligns himself with her. But she feels him. She feels the power in his thighs as they spread hers. She feels his blunt head slip against her, sliding into place between her wet folds. He pauses, his eyes in the dark asking if she’s sure. 

“Yes” she breathes again. “All of me. Always.” 

It’s what he needs to hear, and he slides home, The fullness, the satisfaction of this link makes the thread that’s been weaving between them for months pull taut, like the chord of a harp, but Oliver pauses. The support of his hips, and the firm plant of his knees on the floor in front of her have added balance to her, and Felicity forms a tightly-coiled hypotenuse, shoulders pushed back into the black leather, ass balanced on the edge of the seat, wrapping Oliver with her legs. She can bear down on him now, and does just that, wiggling her hips to entice him into moving. 

“Felicity,” he breathes, and leans over her. Still inside her, his cock pinning her like iron, Oliver’s hands slide up to support her lower back, fingers digging in just above her ass as he noses at the opening of her blouse. His jaw shifts the folds apart, and he’s peppering the tops of her breasts with kisses. She quickly opens a few more buttons, and after a thought she pushes aside the cups of her bra to give him better access, still squirming down onto him, seeking friction, seeking fulfillment. 

Once her nipples pebble in the open air, it’s like a switch flips in Oliver. His mouth finds her breast, flicking and lathing in hot strokes. One hand splays wider across her back, and the other comes between them, spreading across her abdomen and landing a thick thumb over her clit. And then he starts to move. 

Felicity internally curses anyone who ever told Oliver he wasn’t a good multi-tasker. Then she externally curses, with a loud “ _ Fuuuuuuuuuck.”  _ He is working over every single erogenous zone she has, pumping into her with thick, wet strokes, thumbing her swollen, wet nub, and sucking mercilessly at her over-sensitive nipple. 

It’s too much. She can’t have all of this. The partnership, the friendship, the trust, the sex. Life has convinced her that can’t all come from one person. But Oliver seems determined to change her mind. His speed doubles, and her legs spread wider, allowing him to drive a fraction deeper as he presses them together. She sees stars. 

Then Oliver’s mouth is at her neck, tickling her ear, punctuating his thrusts and flicks with whispers. His words find the thread that has been winding to a critical tensity between them, their history and desire interwoven, and strum it. She feels it in a place deep in her abdomen. This connection, is more, so much more. 

“I need you,” he repeats, his hot breath sweeping down her neck, each syllable punctuated by a thrust. Felicity clenches around him. He’s plucking the chord, rhythmically, tortuously, and it has brought her so, so close to the edge. She can’t tell where he stops and she starts.

“Don’t leave me. Stay with me.” Oliver presses hard with his thumb and give her three final, decimating thrusts. “Come. With. Me.” 

His name rips from her as she comes around his pulsing cock. It’s quiet and explosive and intimate, like a private shower of gold confetti, a snowglobe of sparks and pleasure. He keeps moving, working them up and over the sensation until they are both panting, sticky, and knitted together. His nose is in her hair. 

“ _ Don’t leave me. _ ” 

Felicity wakes with a start.  

______

On Monday, Felicity hits the elevator bank at the same time that Oliver does. He stands dumbly as she blushes, and stutters an excuse about leaving something in the car before bolting. He listens to her heels clack on the marble, more quiet as they retreat. She won’t even ride in the same elevator as him. 

_ He’s such an asshole. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once I realized how much takeout Felicity was going to eat I had to make Zachariah P. a minor character. I have NO REGRETS. 
> 
> Oh yeah also smut. No regrets there either.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

 

Felicity embraced the sweet thirty-six hours in which she managed to avoid Oliver in the maze of glass and marble that was their office after her completely irrelevant, insanely hot dream. But she can’t avoid him forever, especially when duty calls. 

Queen Consolidated has a long-standing association with Amanda the Panda, and Felicity was glad that their annual bowling night and costume gala were during her last week. She turns up at the Startling City Lanes fifteen minutes early, and brings her own shoes. She loves bowling. 

Felicity rounds the corner into the bowling alley and makes straight for Oliver’s broad back filling the center lane. She bobs up happily, and plops her bag down. “Hi!” 

His face fills with surprise as he turns, and then he glances down. Helena is in a molded plastic seat to his right, with a sweater so tight and a smile so fake she’d be the first to die in a sorority horror flick. Felicity cherishes the thought, tucking it away to re-murderer Helena later using a variety of gristly methods in the privacy of her mind.

“Felicity!” Helena’s voice is filled with fake warmth. “Who is your partner? Are you going to bowl in the same lane as Oliver and I?” 

Felicity looks back up at Oliver, who shrugs apologetically.  _ Fine.  _

“I’m going to find John.” She turns away. Diggle always knew where to find snacks. And she was going to need a hell of a lot of snacks. 

_____________

There are prickles at the back of Oliver’s neck. He just finished his frame with a respectable spare, when the hairs on his arms raise in alarm, and he whips around in time to see Felicity go down hard off her bar stool. 

In a flash he’s at her side, kneeling to gently cradle her head, and he fights through panic to take stock of the situation. She’s red, and battling for breath. She’s having an allergic reaction -- he scans the bar top she was in front of, and sees several empty plates of food. He doesn’t balk at the amount -- Felicity loves grease, and with a deep-fryer in play she could have have reacted to anything. 

Oliver tears his eyes away from the evidence, and looks at the crowd gathering. He points at Helena. “Call an ambulance and tell them she’s having a severe allergic reaction.” 

His head swivels for Diggle. “Dig, where’s her purse, she carries an epi pen…” John is already on it, rifling through the enormous cavern Felicity calls a handbag. Within seconds, Dig is thrusting the plastic tube into his hand. Without hesitation, he pops the cap, jabs it into her leg, and pushes the depressor. He chucks it away, and gathers her to his chest. He just needs to hold her. 

_ Please be okay, Felicity _ . He rocks them back and forth.  _ I need you to stay with me. Felicity, I’m so sorry. Please.  _ He can’t count the minutes he sits, clutching to her struggling body. He can’t tell if he begs out loud. He won’t think about what might happen. Oliver holds her shoulders, strokes her hair, and prays. 

“Oliver,” he vaguely registers a voice behind him. It could be Santa Clause, for all he cares. “The paramedics are here.” 

He scoops her up, cradling her against him and beelining for the exit.  _ God she’s so light. _ How could he forget how breakable she really was. He should have been more gentle. Oliver’s heart sinks. He should have been so, so much more careful with her. 

He meets the ambulance crew at the doors, gently laying Felicity on the stretcher they’re towing. The group pivots for the ambulance, and Oliver keeps talking. 

“She ate something with shellfish. I administered her epi pen, and her breathing is leveling out a bit but she’s still struggling…” 

The paramedics have stopped, and are waiting tentatively for him to leave the ambulance.  _ When did I get in the ambulance?  _

“Sir,” one begins, “It’s hospital policy that only family…” Oliver’s grip tightens on the rail of her bed and gives them a look that he hopes makes them believe that werewolves are real. They back away, and start the engine.

Oliver’s hold on the gurney doesn’t release for hours. He stays right by her side, in the emergency room, when she’s admitted for observation, when they plug her with an IV. His hand starts to cramp, but he refuses all offers of food, or water, or rational suggestions of any kind. There’s so much waiting, and every moment that she’s struggling, that her future is uncertain, is the worst kind of torture. He spends every single second berating himself for how awful he was to her, but refusing to think about the things he would say to apologize. The things he would have to admit to her, to himself. 

Around midnight, the nurse on duty takes pity on him, and gives him more details than the usual bland status updates. “She’s doing a lot better. Her breathing is back to normal, and it seems like the reaction is working its way out of her system. She should be able to go home tomorrow.” 

Every joint in his body has been iron with alert, and they all go loose at once. Except for his clutching hand.  _ She’s going to wake up. _ Oliver’s mind races ahead, and staring at her beating heart on the monitor, he admits that he’s attached. More than attached. He can’t deny anymore that he has feelings for her, and that when she leaves, the Felicity-shaped hole is going to hurt like hell. No other colleague, no other friend, no other woman, could ever take her place, and it’s new, and terrifying, and amazing and Oliver has no clue what to do about it. 

But Felicity might.

_ I have to tell her.  _ He’s not sure what, exactly, but he as a feeling that once he can articulate the enormous need he has for her, Felicity will know how to fix it. In fact, he has absolute, blind, intractable faith that she will know. Felicity Smoak knows his mind, and his heart, and he just hopes that she wants them for her own. 

He’s still holding on to the railing when she starts to stir the next morning, head pillowed on his opposite arm on the mattress. 

“Oliver?” Her eyes struggle, then take him in. She looks better, more alert. He stands quickly and fatigue races side by side with relief to flood his body. 

“Felicity. I’m so, so sorry, I was such an asshole, and I--” 

“Shhhh.” Her eyes are closed again, and she’s slowly shaking her head, patting his hand. Oliver stops. He has no idea how far he would have gone in that moment, how his plea to her would have been formed, but the coward in him makes sure he’ll never find out. “I’m glad you’re here. Can we just sit, for a second?” 

Oliver Queen does not cry. He won’t. But he blinks, hard and wet, as he leans over her and to press a kiss to her forehead. Being this close to her feels like stepping out into the sunshine again. He’ll find a way to tell her.  _ He has to.  _

He resumes his grip on the bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel a moral obligation to inform you that Oliver is not done being emotionally constipated.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

 

Oliver pulls the mask over his eyes, and swings the quiver over his shoulder. 

The Amanda the Panda gala this year is super-hero themed, and months ago Felicity talked him into dressing up as the Green Arrow. He likes Aquaman better, but when she offered to make it a group venture, he caved. He always caves. 

Maybe having a mask and hood on will make it easier to do what he knows he has to, tonight. His eyes scan the party for Felicity, but snag on Helena. She’s wearing a Wonder Woman costume, with a flowing cape. She’s lovely, but she’s not the one that he’s looking for. Not the one that he wants. 

“Nice hood.”

Oliver spins, and his mouth goes dry at Felicity’s costume. She’s wearing a leather jumpsuit zipped down to show her cleavage, with thigh-high leather boots and a tiny black mask. Her lips are glossy, and her hair is full and flowing. He wants to turn around and leave with her, right now.  _ That would make a lot more sense if she knew you had feelings for her _ . 

Oliver steels himself. He’s faced down corporate sabotage, assassination attempts, and his mother’s forays into matchmaking. He can handle this. 

“Nice boots, Black Canary.” Where does one start a confession of non-platonic feelings? He should have made a plan. He decides to ease into it. “You know, with everything this week, I forgot to ask what you’re going to do after you leave. Did you get another job? I un-black-listed you, you know.” 

Felicity approaches him, treading tentatively on the tenuous peace they built at the hospital. “I think I’m going to take some time, figure out what is next. Maybe volunteer with Laurel at Legal Aid for a bit.” 

He nods. “It’s a good time to do that … to figure things out.”  _ Now or never _ . He looks into her apprehensive eyes, and pushes himself to at least try. “Queen Consolidated will miss you.”  _ I will miss you.  _ She’s brilliant. She has to understand, even if he can’t say it.

She looks … disappointed. “That’s nice of you to say.” 

“Really, Felicity, there is no one like you. You are impossible to replace.” When her expression remains blank under her mask, he panics and adds “At Queen Consolidated.”  _ I have to do more than this. She has to know. _

“Well,” she looks away, “You have Helena now, and you seem to think she has some  _ desirable  _ qualities.” 

Something in him stretches tight. He’s losing her. She’s right here, an arm’s reach away, and he can’t close the distance. Urgency chokes him.  _ Try. Just try.  _

“Felicity, I --” 

“Hello!” Helena comes bounding up, and grabs Oliver’s arm. “Great costume, Felicity! Oliver, it’s time for your speech!” She begins to tug him away, but he stills, and turns back to Felicity.

She is studying him with a fullness that makes his heart clench. “Was there something else you needed to say to me, Oliver?” 

A tsunami of despair washes over Oliver. He has tried so hard all his life to be what other people needed. Strong. Charming. Smart. And he’s never measured up.  _ It wasn’t enough. He isn’t enough, and he won’t ever be.  _

Helena tugs his arm, and he looks at Felicity one more time.  _ I can’t tell her because I don’t deserve her.  _ He shakes his head, and turns away. 

_______

_ So, so stupid.  _ Felicity weaves her way back out through the crowd in the lobby. That dream, the way he stayed with her in the hospital … she thought maybe, just maybe, there was more between them than just hope. 

Her hired Uber car is still waiting where she exited it. Felicity checks her phone. She’s been looking forward to this fundraiser all year, took hours to get ready, and she stayed for ten minutes. She yanks the door back open and climbs in. 

“Can you take me back home? And like, ignore everything that I’m about to say?” The driver looks back, surprised, but nods.  _ Is her driver Zachariah P.? _

She starts with a primal yell. It helps a little. She mimics his gruff voice. “You’re important to Queen Consolidated, Felicity. Thank you for improving Queen Consolidated. Queen Consolidated will miss you.” Less helpful. 

The gig-economy hipster in the front seat pipes up. “Sounds like Queen Consolidated has a real hard-on for you.” 

“SHUT UP ZACHARIAH P. _"_ God, that’s so stupid, how could a whole company …. Oh. Oh God. 

_ You want to leave Queen Consolidated. Queen Consolidated will miss you. You’re irreplaceable to Queen Consolidated.  _

_ You want to leave me. I’ll miss you. You’re irreplaceable to me.  _

That absolute, utter moron. She is going to eviscerate him, trying to tell her things in the most inept, idiotic way … she smiles.  _ He cares about her. He wants her.  _

“Zachariah, turn around please. Go back to the party.” He grins at her in the rearview, and pulls a sharp u-turn.  __

They pull back up to the gala, as her phone rings. Felicity checks the screen, and answers immediately. 

“Thea?” 

The younger Queen is sobbing. “Felicity, I can’t get a hold of Oliver. It’s Walter.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 

Walter’s funeral is on Saturday. It rains. Thea, and Moira, and Oliver all forego umbrellas at the graveside, the cold and damp joining the sadness in an effort to numb them completely. 

They’re still frozen when they return to the Queen Mansion, milling woodenly among the mourners holding canapes and offering condolences. When Oliver can’t stand avoiding the eyes of strangers anymore, or watching his mother and sister nod disconnectedly as people pat their hands, he does what he does best. He disappears. 

Felicity finds him in the window seat of his old bedroom, rain tapping at the panes at his back. For the first time today, he meets someone’s eyes and believes they understand him. It all comes out. 

“When my dad died…” the lump in his throat stops him, as Felicity slides onto the bolster next to him, squaring her shoulder with his. “Losing someone isn’t the worst part. It’s my mom, and Thea. They hurt so much, and nothing I can do is enough. It isn’t  _ enough, _ Felicity…” he breaks down, and she gathers him up. She’s the first warm thing he’s felt in days. 

“What if I lose them too. What if I can’t…” his thoughts are moving too fast to connect them with words. 

“You’re still a family, Oliver. You’re not going to lose them. They love you.” She runs her nails through the hair behind his ears, cradling his head to her.   

“I lost you.” Grief has pushed all reservation and filter into a flaming dumpster. He’s so raw, that he’ll say anything right now. He’ll say it all.  

“You didn’t, you didn’t.” Felicity soothes him with gentle shushing noises, and he has to close his eyes.  

“I did.” He sobs. “I did. All the things I said… Felicity, I’m so sorry, I was angry, and confused. I know you can’t forgive me, but I need to hear it from you.” The tear in his heart is pouring out all of his secrets, his hurts, as he burrows into her. “Please, please tell me why there’s a Felicity-shaped hole inside me next to the Walter-shaped one.” 

“Oliver.” Her voice is gentle, as she cradles his head. “When we met, you wanted to build a better company. I wanted to build a better Oliver.” 

Oliver didn’t think that he could cry harder. But now, at least they are crying together. It’s a release all of the fear, and the sadness and regret that they have been carrying. For Walter, and for each other. 

Some hind part of his brain knows that this is a terrible time to kiss someone. Especially Felicity. But when their breathing syncs, and he meets her eyes, just inches from his, the list of things he cares about is too long add to. He leans forward, and presses his lips to hers. 

Oliver can’t bear to think about her rejecting him in this moment, and when Felicity welcomes him into her mouth his relief is palpable and profound. He calls up every happy moment, every flash of pride and joy, every inarticulable smile from memory, and pours it into kissing her, praying that he can give some light to even one of the people he’s lured into his darkness. 

And his beautiful, luminous warrior gives it right back, climbing to straddle him without breaking the connection. Felicity presses his back to the frigid window, sandwiching him between cold and warm, daring him to feel it all. He will. He will for her. 

Her body against his is too soft. It’s too much. Her tongue sliding, so gently, tenderly, makes him tear up again. His hands find her waist, and then her legs under her dress, and his fingertips mirror her tongue, moving with tender worship over her thighs. Kissing her makes him lose all control, tears every stitch holding the suit that is Oliver Queen apart hem by hem. He pulls himself away from her lips desperately. 

“Felicity.” He presses another kiss to her mouth, begging. “I need you.” Another, followed quietly by “Don’t leave me.” It’s not enough, but it’s enough for now. 

She doesn’t seem surprised by his words. Felicity Smoak, his hero and his friend, levels him with a look of transcendental understanding. Then she reaches back, and unzips her dress. 

_________________

Oliver’s hands cover hers, and she stills. Had she misread this so terribly? Then he gently resumes the work of lowering her zipper, slipping her bra straps down with the cap sleeves of her black dress. In a blink,  she’s exposed to him from the waist up, and cold. 

He lets out a shaky sigh, running his warm hands up her ribs to gather her breasts. His forehead tips, and lands on her collarbone, and he releases her, arms banding around her back. Felicity can’t help it, and her fingers resume their combing through his short hair. 

“Felicity, you know you’re more to me than this, don’t you?” his quiet words ghost over her chest as he holds her close. 

She doesn’t respond, stroking his hair. There’s so, so many things that could mean, and for once, only he knows which answer is the right one. 

“You wanted to make me better, and you did. I can’t just sleep with you Felicity. I can’t just be friends with you. I can’t just lose you.” His face is still buried in her chest, body plastered to hers, and she can’t see his face. “It has to be everything.” 

Her eyes close, and she embraces him gently. “I know. I know you’ve changed, Oliver. I watched it happen.” 

He sighs, and shifts her weight on his lap, bringing her center directly over something very large and very hard, and she gasps involuntarily. His arms drop, hands drifting down to cup her hips, then her ass. Oliver slowly moves her again, dragging her over his length, and Felicity can feel his arousal through the layers of his suit pants, and her thin underwear. She drops her head back. 

Oliver takes advantage of her position, grinding up into her and plundering her chest, conveniently at his eye level. His mouth finds one nipple, then the other, slicking them up with his hot mouth then watching greedily as they pebble in the cool air. He nuzzles, nibbles, and noses his way over, under, and between her small breasts, encouraging her to work herself over him in a steady, succulent rhythm. She parts her legs further and sinks into him, his cock nuzzling up perfectly into the valley between her thighs, head nosing her clit under his zipper. 

The hot and cold is what ruins her. The friction of her bare thighs sliding over the silkiness of his pants, the wet heat of her panties crushing against his erection, and the constant battle between his scorching mouth and the frigid air for control of her nipples is too much. Felicity throws her arms around Oliver’s shoulders, crushing him to her as she comes with a cry. 

Immediately, his hands are under her, squeezing brutally, as he hoists them off of the window seat. His fingers brush the wet bridge of her underwear as he carries her towards his bed. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello yes sexy things are happening now.

**Chapter 12**

 

Oliver Queen isn’t sure how he got naked. If this was a book, someone might write to the author to complain about that missing plot point, but fuck it, everyone knows how buttons and zippers work and fabric slides and fingers fumble in haste. What matters now is that he is naked, erection jutting straight out as he towers over the also-naked Felicity Smoak, who is reclining languidly on his bed. 

The woman waiting for him is a dream. His dream. Sure, he’s dreamed of women  _ like  _ Felicity before. Perfect, supple breasts, silky legs that vee into a perfect, wet arch, gorgeous, piercing eyes and long fingers that make him howl. But even imaginary women can’t compare to the reality that is her. She’s brilliant, and kind, and in defiance of  all universal laws has been convinced that he is a person she wants to be with. 

Oliver grinds his teeth imagining the lengths he would go to for her. He understands why people start wars, and write symphonies, and paint masterpieces. She is a symphony. She is a masterpiece. 

“Oliver,” she looks at him with hooded eyes. “Don’t make me wait anymore.” 

He thought that having her ride him like that, face full of her gorgeous breasts, was incredible, but bowing over her, positioning himself to enter her while he can still see her body, her face, her fanned hair, makes him feel like he could do this forever. He thinks back to the day she stood up for him, six months ago, when he swore some new rope knotted between them. Oliver feels it tugging on him now, and it’s got him around the throat, the lungs, the balls. He looks into her eyes and their connection roars between them. Felicity raises a hand to his face. 

“I want you to, Oliver. Please, I want all of you. Always.” He nudges her opening, but when he hesitates, she grows uncertain. “I’m on the pill, and…” 

“No,” he smiles gently down at her. “I’m just… It’s just.” He shakes his head, and tries again, looking right into her beautiful, confused face. “I’ve never been with someone I’ve cared about like this.” 

She flashes him a small smile, then loops her ankles around his back and uses her legs to pull him the rest of the way into her. 

Oliver slides in smoothly, flexing himself down until he’s supporting his weight on his arms over her. Felicity gives a little nod, and he starts to thrust, over and over, in and out, her legs still tied around him. She’s so perfect, perfect for him. One hand drifts to her hip, and lifts it, changing their angle slightly, and her nails are scrabbling against his back. Oliver refuses to rush, attempting to telegraph with his deep, steady thrusts the he could do this forever. That he will never have enough. 

When Felicity starts to flutter around him, his head drops to the crook of her neck, and he falls right after her over the edge. His last coherent thought is that sex is way, way better when you are in love. 

_______

The first thing that Felicity’s brain registers when she wakes up is grey. The light is grey, the room is grey. The day outside the window is grey. 

It’s surprisingly warm, for such an abysmal color palette. She rolls slightly towards the edge of the bed, and right into Oliver. Even the bleak day can’t dim the gold of his skin, his vitality and warmth. 

She reminds herself why she’s there. Walter died. Her eyes roam over Oliver’s sculpted back, and despite everything, she allows herself to hope. She told him that she cared for him, and he held her and made love to her and it’s impossible, inconceivable, that this was a one-time event for them. It was so much. They could be so much. 

However, if Felicity Smoak knows anything else about Oliver Queen, it’s that they are in for an Olympic-level emotional hangover when he wakes up. And hangovers are always better with coffee. 

After locating her dress, and shoes, she pads quietly down the stairs, towards the kitchen where she’s certain Raisa will have something percolating. She slides past the library, then does a double take. Helena is waiting in a wing-backed chair. 

“Felicity?” the brunette spots her. She stands, and strolls to where Felicity is frozen in the doorway. “What are you doing here?” 

_ Lie. Lie hard, girl.  _ “I was just leaving Thea.” Felicity keeps her eyes steady on Helena’s. “She had a rough night.” 

“Thea?” Helena’s expression is incredulous.

“We’re close” Felicity replies flatly. “What are  _ you  _ doing here?” 

Helena pats a folio tucked under her arm. “Oliver asked me earlier this week to bring by some proposals to increase QC’s value for the stock offering. You know, some cost-savings to make us more appealing to investors.” 

“And you found some? In a  _ week _ ?” Felicity is confused. 

“Well, some were obvious. Like scrapping the program to subsidize access in the Glades, or outsourcing our call center. Easy cuts. Some required some more strategic thinking, like lobbying harder to end net neutrality so we could adjust pricing models.” Helena looks smug as she watches her words sink in.

Felicity is stunned. Everything she’s worked for the last six months, Helena is ready to skewer and filet. “And Oliver is okay with this?” She thought he had changed. How, how could she have been so wrong? She was a means to an end for him. To a lot of ends. 

His words from last night ring hollow in her mind.  _ I’ve never been with anyone I’ve cared about like this. It has to be everything.  _

“Well,” Helena gloats, drawing her back out of her rioting thoughts, “he was pretty  _ explicit  _ in what he wanted from me.” Her smile borders on cruel. “It’s so nice to have a boss I feel so  _ close  _ with. When we spend time in the gym together, or have dinner, it’s like we are  _ totally connected. _ ” 

Felicity wills herself not to cry in front of this bitch. Oliver used her, he used her mind, he used her body, and was ready to throw it all away and move on to anyone else with a law degree and open legs. It meant nothing. She meant nothing. 

“Can I…” Felicity clears her throat. “Can I leave a quick note in there? For reference?” 

“Sure.” Helena seems confused, but hands Felicity the binder and a pen. She scribbles quickly, before she loses her nerve, then snaps the cover shut and turns away.  She can feel Helena’s eyes watching her leave, waiting for the first second she can open the cover and read the message. 

_ I thought you were better. I was wrong. - F  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really feel like Sandra Bullock would understand the direction I was going here. Sorry, original non-smutty plot of Two Weeks Notice. 
> 
> Also, you hate Helena, I hate Helena, we all hate Helena let's have a party.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Felicity Smoak is furious. 

She calls Laurel from the McDonalds drive through, between the ordering console and the payment window. She debated the merits of ordering her three breakfast combos and hotcakes on UberEats, but knew that somehow that Zachariah P. and his shit-eating grin would show up with her hate-breakfast, and she really didn’t need an assault charge right now. 

She’s digging in her enormous purse for her wallet, when her friend answers. “Hello?” 

“Laurel, I slept with Oliver and then found out he was using me to sell the company at a higher profit.” 

The cashier at the window looks startled. “Twelve ninety-six.” 

Laurel sounds groggy, but she is Felicity’s best friend for a reason. “Felicity, put two of the Extra Value Meals in the back seat and only eat one on the way over. The door will be open, coffee will be on.” 

“He used me, Laurel. I don’t think-” she snatches her bags from the next window with a quick thanks. “I meant nothing to him, but I’m…” God, she’s crying in a McDonalds drive through. 

“I’m in love with him.” Saying it out loud rips a wormhole in the universe. 

Laurel sighs. “Eat the hotcakes too.” 

_______________________

Oliver Queen is furious. 

One of the executive skills he worked hard to develop is list-making, and he blisters at the one which he succinctly and mentally drafts to frame the causes of his ire. 

One, he woke up in bed this morning expecting to find the woman that he loves, and was instead alone. 

Two, another woman that he most certainly  _ does not  _ love attempted to enter said bed. 

Three, when he kicked said woman that he did not love out of said bed using expletives that were not terribly professional, said woman quit her employment of one week and threatened to file a sexual harassment lawsuit absent an enormous monetary settlement. 

Four, said woman he did not love left behind a binder full of thorough and detailed plans, apparently drafted at his direction, to dismantle the work of said woman he did love. Said woman he did love had seen said plans, as evidenced by a very shaky handwritten note on the glossy cover page. 

He is so fucked. Oliver buries his head in his hands, and thinks about what said woman he lovestold him about lists.  _ There will always be one thing on it that seems the most important. If you do that first, you’ll never be wrong.  _

On this list, there is  _ only  _ one thing that is important. One person who willalways, always come first. Oliver suddenly sees, with blazing clarity, what he has to do. He stood resolutely, reached for his phone, and pivoted towards the door.

He paused. _ Pants, actually, should probably come first.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A+ friendship goals, Laurel Lance. Let's all pick up the phone right now and text that friend in our life with a big thank you.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

 

Oliver walks into Starling City Legal Aid, and immediately spots a bobbing blonde ponytail. He heads right for it, ignoring the receptionist’s protests. 

“Felicity.” He corners her at a filing cabinet, and the shock on her face is immediate. 

“Oliver!” She blanks, then looks at her watch. “The stock offering! It’s in an hour!” She sets down her papers and starts to shove him. “You have to go, you can’t be here…” 

“Felicity.” She hears something in his voice that makes her stop. “I had to write the speech for it myself, and I need you to listen to it.” She starts to shake her head, and he begs. “ _ Please.”  _

She sighs, and her shoulders drop. An imperceptible nod bobs her ponytail. He pulls two folded sheets from his suit pocket with shaking hands, and begins in an even voice. 

“First, I want to thank all of you who have offered condolences at the passing of my stepfather, Walter Steel, former CIO of Queen Consolidated. My family has appreciated your support at this difficult time.” 

He clears his throat heavily, and hopes to God he doesn't cry. This is an important speech. Oliver continues. “Walter taught me many things, as a mentor and friend. He taught me that where you invest your time, you invest your life, and that investing in your family, and your community, is more important than investments in business will ever be.” 

He gestures in a royal wave, indicating his attention would be on the audience right now. But he doesn’t look at her. He reads at the printouts in front of him with intensity. “Because of Walter, I was ready to listen when I met someone who showed me how to invest in my community, and my life. She is very, very talented, and I was shortsighted and used her talent to invest in this business, to make it grow, and to offer it to all of you. I didn’t invest where I should have, and in that way, I failed her.” 

Oliver hesitantly looks up at Felicity, so brief and fleeting that he can tell her breath catches. It is half a second and speaks half a lifetime. “But that stops today. Today, I’m terminating Queen Consolidated’s stock offering and keeping the company in private hands--” he vaguely registers a gasp “-- until it can be converted to a nonprofit corporation that offers reliable, subsidized internet access to the people of Starling City.”

Felicity is stock still. She stands like a pillar of salt as he continues, her eyes not leaving his face. He can feel them trace his cheeks, his nose, his mouth. “I know many of you are disappointed in this change, but I cannot apologize. However, I can and will apologize to the person I have disappointed the most. Felicity Smoak is the moral compass of this company,” his voice softens, “and my best friend. She is the best thing to happen to Queen Consolidated, and to me, and from today on I will only invest in a future good enough to have her in it.” Finally, he dares to look at her, lifting his eyes to hers, and finds them waiting. They are inscrutable, sad and confused and something else he can’t describe over the thundering of his heart. Overcome, he looks at his notes one more time.  

“Oh,” he clears his throat, “also, I am in love with her.” 

She doesn’t react. They stand perfectly still, like twin moons orbiting a huge, newly-discovered planet, as the office bustles around them. He can’t tell if he’s breathing, but he’s hoping hard enough that oxygen doesn’t matter. Felicity crosses her arms and hugs herself, and starts to speak, then stops. She tries again. 

“Oliver.” Her voice is thick. “You need to go.” 

Oliver’s head drops, but he refuses to cry in front of all these strangers. He nods, and then turns on his heel. He has no idea how he makes it to the stairwell, but once the door closes behind him, he bursts. Pain, disappointment, and loss rush in fill the absolute void that she leaves in him. He starts down the stairs.

___________________________________

 

A throat clears behind Felicity. 

“You know,” Laurel is teary. “Aside from the split infinitive in the middle there, that speech was really kind of perfect.” 

She spins to face Laurel, and her amazing brain  _ finally  _ catches up with her heart. “I love him too.” Louder. “I LOVE HIM TOO.” 

Laurel smiles, wiping away the wetness at her eyes. “Take the elevator.” 

Felicity runs. She violently stabs the down arrow, praying to every god she knows and some she is probably making up. Is there a patron saint of elevators?  

“Come on, come on, come on,” she mutters, finger jabbing the button frantically. She is in love with an incredible, amazing man, who just threw away billions of dollars to help the city because she believed he could be a better person. And she let him get away. This elevator needed to  _ move it.  _

The doors ding open and Felicity throws etiquette to the wind, rushing in before even one passenger has exited. She pounds the lobby button, then the door close so quickly that Nelson from domestic violence almost loses his heel. 

When the doors close, the agony amplifies. The muzak is that horrible “Kiss from a Rose” song, and Felicity seriously considers jumping up and down to speed things along. Just as she’s analyzing the outcomes of hot wiring the elevator panel, the doors open, and she bolts into the lobby. 

“Oliver!” She shoves through the crowd waiting to board. “Oliver!” She jogs to the center of the enormous room, and starts circling, yelling. “Oliver Queen! I love you too! Oliver, are you here?” People are staring, but at this moment she only cares about one very specific, very absent person. 

_ Shit _ . He must have left already. She’s almost to the revolving door when a side stairwell opens, and she catches him in the corner of her eye, wiping his face. 

Felicity practically tackles him, right there in the lobby. She throws herself into his arms, circling his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Surprised, his arms come to her waist. 

“Oliver, I love you too.” She’s mumbling into his suit. She modulates her voice, pulling back  to look at him. “I love you too. I love you, and I want to be with you, and you are my best friend too…” she’s babbling, but his face is lit up like a Christmas tree. He tightens his hold on her waist and lifts her up off the ground in a lazy circle. He holds her like he’ll never let her go again.

“Oh thank God,” he huffs out, “oh Felicity, thank God. I’m a wreck without you. Total disaster. It took me like six hours to write a four minute speech, and I’m  _ crying _ , and...” 

She’s crying too. She pulls back and soothes him with kisses as he sets her gently back on the ground. 

“Felicity,” he takes both her hands. “I love you. I want to be with you.” He kisses her back, bliss and perfection, then pulls away again. “But I have to tell you, I am not going to be rich anymore.” 

_ What?  _

“I mean,” he cocks his head and thinks, “I’m not going to be  _ as  _ rich anymore. I might have to give up the helicopter. Does that work for you?” 

She smiles, and shakes her head. The fact that this beautiful, noble man who loves her thinks his shrinking personal fortune matters is a conversation for another day. “As long as  _ I  _ don’t have to work for you, I’ll be happy.” She smooths his cheeks with her hands. “Plus, I have a pretty nice apartment. I can show it to you.”

Oliver’s eyes meet hers in understanding as she grins wickedly. “We can start with the bed.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. 
> 
> That is all.


	15. Chapter 15

**Epilogue**

 

The doorbell rings, and Oliver peels his naked body off of Felicity's couch. He locates a fleece blanket with some ridiculous blue telephone booths on it to wrap around his waist, and heads for her entryway. 

On the way to her apartment, ordering Chinese had seemed logical. They would eat, they’d talk, they’d sort everything out. They were due for some rational, adult discussion about feelings and the future, without getting caught up in the insane attraction pinging between them. 

They had ended up naked pressed against her front door. 

Oliver smiles to himself. 

Apparently, his musings delayed his progress too much for the GrubHub driver, who starts knocking on the door. 

“Ms. Smoak, it’s Zachariah P. I have your Chinese, do you want me to leave it? There’s a lot, so I think it will stay warm, and --”   


The delivery guy stops abruptly when Oliver swings open the door. Then he breaks out in a grin. 

“ALL RIGHT FELICITY!” he shouts into the apartment. Then he turns puzzled. “Wait, she still lives here right?” He looks at Oliver’s blank expression and begins to babble nervously. “Because I saw her name on the order and it was so much food that I just assumed and then sort of drove over because she orders a lot and so like, it was autopilot and -” 

Felicity pops up behind him wrapped in a bathrobe. “Thank you, Zachariah.” 

His knowing expression returns. “You got it, girl.” His hand raises in an enthusiastic high-five, then drops it when he sees Oliver’s face. “Right. Please uh… rate your delivery and have a good day.” 

Scurry is probably too apt a word to describe his retreat. 

___________________

Felicity snags the Chinese from Oliver’s hand and starts untying the knot in the plastic sack. She drops the bag on the kitchen table and reminds herself that she does not owe him an explanation of her relationship with her takeout guy. She’s pretty sure that the terms and conditions of all those apps contain a legal privileged communications clause. She should research that. 

Her mind wanders to exactly what Zachariah P. would say about her if called to testify in a court of law as she fiddles with the loops, and she doesn’t hear Oliver behind her until his arms band around her waist from behind. He buries his face in her hair ( _ totally fine, already a mess from sex anyway)  _ and just holds her. Felicity sighs, totally warm, totally contented, and no longer hungry for Asian cuisine. 

She loops and arm up to scratch at the short hair at the nape of his neck, and leans her head back into his shoulder. Felicity really couldn’t tell you how long they stand there together before he gently turns her to him. She also couldn’t begin to estimate how long he presses her to her kitchen table, kissing her with a deep, slow thoroughness that leaves her panting. Eventually, his hands slide from her neck, down her collar bones and past the hot, thin silk covering her breasts, to clasp her fingers. 

When he finally pulls away enough to see his face, Oliver is serious, pensive. “I didn’t know it could be like this,” he murmurs quietly.

She feels her brow crease in concern.  _ What?  _ “Like what, Oliver?” she wills her voice to be gentle, unsure which of them is feeling more hesitant, more insecure at this moment in their admittedly twisted timeline.

Oliver swallows hard, and seems to think before he meets her eyes. His voice is tremulous. “You…” He hesitates, and tries again. “You know all of me, and -” the last part is quiet. “And I’m enough.” She hears an encyclopedia of resignation, and disappointment, a query, and a lament; but she also hears a prayer, hers to grant, full of hope.

Looking again, Felicity sees a new dimension open in Oliver’s brimming face, and her hands come up to his jaw, to hold him still, and give her time to explore the vulnerable new universe in his eyes. The tapestry of the rest of her life with this man rolls out before her, and it stills her. He’s offering her everything and she wants it, fiercely, tenderly, desperately, forever. 

“You’re wrong.” Her voice is barely above a whisper and his eyes fly to hers, shocked and still bracketed by her hands. She has to will her voice past the lump in her throat. “You are so much more than enough.” 

The swiftness he uses to gather her in his arms is the stuff of legion, and she rubs her legs over the silk of her robe, trapped between her and his iron arms, as he carries her to the bed. On her comforter, she watches him strip off his boxer briefs ( _ liked the Tardis toga better),  _ then make quick work of the knot at her waist, splaying the robe open around her. She lays back on the spread of slick fabric, and he arches over her, and lets his hands explore. 

He feel of him touching her, just touching, is how she imagines objects in museums feel. He treats her with reverence, thorough and precise, moving closer and closer to her until she’s breathless under his weight, supported just by his elbows. His mouth works its way up her neck, caressing, his stubble adding to the cacophony of sensations, in concert with his hot breath and her thudding pulse. When he gets to her ear, his head dips. 

“Felicity, I’m going to love you forever, if that’s alright with you.” 

She captures his mouth in a searing kiss. 

It’s really unfair, distracting him by sucking his lower lip in that way she knows drives him crazy, following it with a nip and a lush lathe of her tongue. But she needs to distract him, to get some leverage to --

Felicity flips them over, and she’s straddling Oliver’s hips before his eyes refocus from their blissed-out haze. Tugging his shoulders so he’s sitting, her nipples brushing over his defined chest, she centers herself over him and slides on to his thick length without a warning. 

Oliver groans, and almost tips back to the bed, but Felicity holds him up firmly. She can’t explain why, until he opens his eyes again and locks with hers, their height difference placing them eye to eye. They don’t speak, or kiss, but Oliver’s hands slide to her lower back to balance her, and when he meets her gaze again, she knows he understands. The thing between them, the painful, confusing, tugging thread, the golden rope, has wound to its shortest distance.This means something. They mean something. 

Felicity begins to ride him slowly. At this angle, she can’t thrust deeply, or quickly, but Oliver shifts, a little, and she can feel his cock expand against her already-filled walls. She gasps. It’s so right. Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she embraces the slow, torturous grind, experimenting until her thighs are burning almost as fervently as her lungs. 

She realizes, as she rolls herself over him, again and again, that his skin and hers are making contact almost everywhere. Chests, arms, hands -- if they separate one inch of skin for a second, its to press another together, fraught and insistent. The sensation is overwhelming, almost brutal, every circuit thrown open to the electricity coursing over her. Felicity can’t describe the strokes inside her, pushing, stretching, slowly and it is maddening, the way he fills parts of her she didn’t know were empty. Suddenly, Oliver’s hand snakes up her back and into the blonde locks hanging halfway down her back. Grasping them causes the slightest tug, her head snaps back in surprise and tension, and the fullness, everywhere, fractures the mirror of her orgasm and it spills over, the reflective shards blizzarding into her glittering reality. 

Oliver keeps moving under her, mouth on her newly-exposed neck, hand releasing her hair just a little but maintaining the friction that sent her over the edge. His mouth is racing over her throat hungrily, but as soon as his tongue lands on her thundering pulse he’s sucking, moaning, and following her into orgasm has she rides the very last ounces of pleasure out of his body. It’s more than enough. It’s everything.

Later, they talk about practical things as they sit naked in her bed, eating their cold Chinese. Oliver still needs to deal with the fallout of cancelling the stock offering, and figure out about a million things about becoming a non-profit. And defend QC against a potential sexual harassment suit that is  _ completely frivolous  _ \- he doesn’t have to do much to convince her of it when she learns Helena might be the plaintiff _.  _

“And,” he adds, watching Felicity inhale more lo mein than anyone should be able to pick up with only two chopsticks, “I may need someone to draft a prenup.” 

Felicity freezes, mid-slurp, and meets his eyes wryly. He lets her finish her bite before he adds, “So, you know, I hope you know a good lawyer.” 

The grin on his face before it’s buffeted by a pillow tells her that her response is exactly what he expected.

“I  _ am  _ a good lawyer.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading my work and for the comments! I would love to hear your thoughts on my take on this movie, which I love dearly, and my Olicity, who I will ship until the world ends. 
> 
> I hope you have a great, wonderful day, or year, or life or multiple lives if you are Buddhist and believe in reincarnation.


End file.
